The Countess and the Castle
by contrite shadow
Summary: Set in early Season Five; no specific spoilers. Beckett and Castle's help is requested in another precinct to assist on a "weird" murder. Will the new dynamics of their relationship, and the need to keep it secret, hinder their ability to solve the crime?


Origanl Character: Tom Wright; a young homicide detective, described as a younger, better-looking Johnny Depp, who once had a date with Castle. He used to work nights and weekends at Central Homicide.

* * *

The Countess and the Castle

At first startled, Stefan relaxes on seeing who it is, and says, "Man, you scared me! What's up?"

_Look at him; he's sweating. He's afraid of you. And he should be, after what he did._

A muttered "_What he did_," and then a hissed, "Did you touch her?"

Something, an ancient instinct almost bred out of his lineage, tries to alert Stefan to the danger, but it's been so long since he's needed it that he just laughs and says, "Touch who; that flautist? Not me, bro. All we did was talk." Showing his palms in an equally ancient gesture of surrender, he continues, "All yours if you want her."

_Make him understand. He must be made to understand why this is happening._

"_Happening_." This time it's almost a shout when he says, "Did you touch her?"

_Of course he touched me. His stink is still on me. Make him admit it. I want to hear him say it._

"Fuck, no. I told you already. Are you high?"

"Did you touch the Countess?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stefan says, "God, you had me worried for a minute there, you freak. No, of course I didn't touch your precious Countess. Why the fuck would I want to? She's not my type." Satisfied that the matter is closed, he again heads for home.

_He's lying! Make him stop. I can't bear to think about it. You promised me; you said that you'd make it all go away._

"_Go away_."

With his back turned to his attacker, Stefan doesn't see the blow that knocks him to the ground and leaves him stunned; his ears ringing. He is, however, conscious for the killing blow. But obviously none of the ones after that, as they rain down on his lifeless body.

And what would you think, if you stumbled on the scene; one man standing over another's prone body, blood covering both of them and pooling on the ground? Of course, it's dark, so you wouldn't see the color, but you'd know it was blood. What then, if the killer quickly wiped the weapon clean with a cloth from his pocket, muttering to himself as he did so? And if he, on completing his task, inclined his head and said "My lady," before following the shadows back to his apartment, only stopping to put his trench coat and the bloodied cloth in a random dumpster on the way? You'd know he's insane, right?

But what if you hadn't seen any of that? Picture, instead, a plain, but not unattractive man in his early twenties, having cooked and eaten his dinner much earlier, cleans up after himself, setting the coffee machine for the next morning. He has just showered and is neatly but casually dressed in a white t-shirt and black pants. His small apartment is clean and tidy, though a little spartanly decorated. The only anomaly is an exquisite cello, reclining serenely on the sofa. With a varnished red-gold finish reminiscent of the gemstone Tiger's-eye, and polished to an impossible sheen, this is clearly an instrument of superior workmanship.

After laying out his clothes for tomorrow, the young man finally turns his attention to the cello. He lifts it from the sofa with slightly trembling fingers and reverent care, as if it's precious to him. Seating himself on a nearby stool, he carefully anchors the cello's endpin in a strap on the floor made for just that purpose. Satisfied that the priceless instrument is secure, he picks up the bow and tentatively draws it across the strings, as if afraid of what he might hear. With that melodious sound, his face is transformed by a grateful smile into something more than the sum of his parts. He becomes beautiful.

And then he plays. Now, this is New York City, remember; a place where people literally live on top of one another, and they're not shy about eloquently and profanely voicing their displeasure when neighbors make too much noise. However, as the first notes of Bach's sixth cello suite fill the air, there are no complaints. In fact, an almost eerie hush falls over the immediate area, as if the local residents know that they are privilege to something special; a true maestro of the craft with a cello made by none other than Antonio Stradivari. And, as the music draws to a close with that final caress of the bow over the strings, there is a collective sigh of pleasure; as if even the building is at peace.

* * *

Beckett wakes to feather-light caresses on her midriff and tender kisses on her shoulder. Smiling, as her body responds to the attention, demanding more, she nevertheless protests, "Castle, I didn't get much sleep last night, and _you_ were the reason."

Moving his hand tantalizingly close to her breasts, Castle's lips are just touching her ear, sending a shiver of pleasure through her, when he murmurs, "Hey, I'm awake, you're awake, so what's the problem?"

Trying not to laugh, Beckett marvels that her body arches into his caress as if it has a mind of her own, even as she says, "The problem is you woke me."

Despite her complaints, Castle knows that he's won, and his hand covers one breast as he presses his erection against her butt, saying, "Whatever the reason, my point is that we're both awake and we're both horny." When her cell phone shatters the moment, he's already releasing her as he pleads, "Is there even a chance in hell that you won't answer that?"

Touching his retreating hand in apology, even as she reaches for the phone, Beckett says, "Sorry, Castle." The conversation is brief and her part of it gives nothing away. After hanging up, she turns to him and it's almost a question when she reveals, "Lincoln Center."

Confused, Castle says, "That's not even nearly in our precinct."

Clearly a little confused herself, Beckett says, "I know. Gates says we've been requested."

"We?"

With a cheeky grin, Beckett says, "Yeah. Apparently someone thinks you're useful."

Taking the phone from her hand and placing is back on the nightstand, partly covering her body with his as he does so, Castle then says, "Lincoln Center, huh? They won't expect us for a while."

* * *

On their way to the scene, with Beckett of course driving, Castle says, "There's a camera on each corner of almost every building in that complex. So, if they don't already have the guy, we might be looking at someone familiar with the center." He sees Beckett's question in her glance and explains, "Not such an issue now. But Alexis sometimes attended concerts there with friends and I made sure it was safe before I agreed."

Though it's certainly not the first time she's thought it, Beckett says, "You're a good father."

With a grin, Castle says, "Makes you want me, doesn't it?"

Resisting the urge to smile, Beckett lies, "Not even a little bit."

Trailing the back of one fingernail along the outside of her thigh, he says, "No?"

Swatting at his hand, Beckett instructs, "Work time, Castle."

"There's no one here."

Worried about what he'll do with the information, Beckett hesitates before saying, "Yes, but…I need to focus."

His face split by a boyish grin, Castle asks, "My dear detective, are you admitting that I mess with your concentration?" Her only reply is a grimace, but it's enough. Placing his hands on his knees, he confesses, "Back at you. I'll behave myself, I promise. But I _will_ want to have sex with you again at our first opportunity."

Beckett finally releases the joyful laugh that has been fighting for a way out of her throat all morning, and says, "And how would that make this different than any other day?"

Beaming at her, Castle confirms, "It wouldn't."

At the corner of Lincoln Center known as Damrosch Park, currently fenced off for renovations, Beckett finally understands on seeing Tom Wright, and warmly shakes his hand as she says, "So this is where you ended up."

With his usual, dazzling smile, Tom shakes both their hands and says, "Yeah, it's nice to be working regular hours again." Indicating the similarly dressed woman beside him, he explains, "My partner against crime, Caroline Wells. Carrie, this is Kate Beckett and Rick Castle." With a wink at Castle, he stage whispers, "Carrie's a fan."

Castle shakes the woman's hand and cannot help the flirtatious tone when he says, "Always a pleasure to meet one of my adoring fans."

Only when he hears the ice in Beckett's voice on greeting Carrie does he realize what he's done. Noticing Tom's resulting questioning look, Castle offers a tiny, guilty shrug. Discreet as ever, the young detective nods once and heads towards the scene as he says, "It's been forty hours and we've got nothing. We're getting pressure to wrap this up because every day the renovations are delayed means big bucks to someone. But the next step in the makeover would bury the scene under tons of concrete, and I don't want to risk it, in case we've missed something. I remembered that you two like the weird ones, so I thought some fresh eyes might help. Obviously, the body is at the morgue, but I figured you'd want a look around."

Not wanting to let it rest, Castle takes the moment before they reach the yellow tape to whisper to Beckett, "Sorry; habit." When this is met only by an almost imperceptible shake of her head, he knows better than to pursue it.

Once they're all gathered near the blood stain, Tom says, "The victim is Stefan Gruer; a lifetime resident of NYC. He was born in the Bronx and attained a scholarship to Juilliard. A valued member of the New York Philharmonic, he was here Tuesday night for rehearsal at Avery Fisher Hall. There's a concert in a few weeks. This unauthorized shortcut through the construction site is in line with his apartment, so he probably used it regularly."

All business, Beckett asks, "Weapon?"

"That's the weird part; his trumpet. Most of the blows were delivered after he was dead; seventeen in all."

Castle whistles and says, "_Not_ a music fan. How is a trumpet weird? Sounds like a weapon of opportunity."

Tom nods and says, "Except that it was inside a sturdy fiberglass case that would have done the deed just as effectively. Plus, the ME thinks that Gruer was first king-hit by a chunk of concrete we found that had traces of the victim's blood on it. The killer then discarded that weapon and bothered to open the case before beating the guy's head to pulp with his own instrument." Grinning at Castle, he adds, "So to speak."

Beckett halts her appraisal of the scene long enough to ask, "So, no prints or useful forensic evidence, no witnesses or surveillance footage, no apparent motive and no obvious suspects?"

Tom touches the side of his nose and points at Beckett to indicate that she's correct on all counts, then says, "Like I said; weird. Near as we can tell, the guy was well-liked and respected by acquaintances and colleagues alike. It wasn't a robbery. Given the nature of the attack, we're thinking he knew his killer. But, other than occasional artistic differences, we can't find anyone who had a beef with the guy." Gesturing to the evidence of a ferocious attack, he concludes, "Certainly nothing to warrant this."

Beckett ponders this for a second and then asks Castle, "How many musicians in the orchestra?"

"About a hundred, I think."

Tom interjects, "One hundred and nine suspects, and that's just those involved in the upcoming concert. There are a handful of stand-ins who would have had contact with him at some point. We're looking into lighting technicians and stage hands, but they seem less likely." When Beckett says nothing, and only resumes her examination of the area, he asks, "Think you can help us out?"

Beckett shrugs and says, "My captain didn't phrase it as a request." Smiling at the two detectives, she adds, "But, sure; I'd love to. Mind if we hang around here for a while?"

With a silent command to the nearby uniformed officer, Tom says, "I'd have been surprised if you didn't. I've copied everything we've got to your precinct, and will let you know if anything changes. If you'd just let _me_ know before approaching any of the suspects?"

"Of course. Thanks, Tom, Caroline. I'll be in touch." As the detectives leave, Beckett says to the officer, "Why don't you take five? We'll be here when you get back."

The young man smiles his gratitude and leaves them to it, shutting the gate as he does so. Castle eyes Beckett warily and says, "First impressions?"

With a sigh, she replies, "That this case will go unsolved."

Well acquainted with how moody Beckett can be when there's no clear suspect, Castle almost leaves it at that. But he's in this for the long haul, so he steels his courage with a deep breath and says, "Kate, I want to talk about before."

Dragging her reluctant gaze to his, Beckett says, "It's okay, Castle. I'm used to it. It only bothered me because…well, because I somehow thought things would be different now."

Reaching out to touch her, Castle instead lets the arm fall to his side, and says, "They're _very_ different. I'm not interested in anyone but you. I haven't been for a long time. I meant it when I said the flirting thing is just habit. I didn't even notice that I _had_ flirted until I saw the effect it had on you. It's just a bit of harmless fun. But you have every right to expect more of me now we're together. So I'm going to make a conscious effort to stop doing that, okay?"

He knows that Beckett has forgiven him when she offers him the gift of a genuine smile and says, "Sure you _can_ stop?"

Mirroring her smile, he says, "I'll just have to channel it all into seducing you."

Still smiling slightly, Beckett says, "Considering it's barely 9am and we've already had sex, I'd say the seduction part is done."

Closing the distance between them, but still avoiding touching her, Castle says, "Well, I think of it more as a process, than a goal. And we're well overdue for the next stage in the process."

Beckett holds her ground and admonishes, "Working here, Castle. And you promised to behave yourself."

"Am I not patiently awaiting your permission? We're alone, that stylish plastic sheeting covering the fence ensures our privacy, and Tom said no surveillance in this spot."

Trying, and failing, to summon an angry glare, Beckett eventually says, "One kiss, no groping."

Just before his lips touch hers, Castle says, "You're such a romantic."

When they finally come up for air, Beckett huskily murmurs, "I said _no_ groping."

Giving her ass a gentle squeeze before releasing her, Castle cheerfully lies, "I slipped." Putting a step's gap between them before he _really_ gets carried away, he looks around at the scene, saying, "Now, how about we solve this unsolvable murder?"

* * *

On the way back to the precinct, Castle asks, "Uh, can I have one exception to the no flirting rule?"

"It's not a rule, Castle. You volunteered."

"True, but…okay, in that case, I'm still going to flirt with Lanie."

More curious than upset, Beckett asks, "Because?"

"She likes it, but she's never really been interested in me. So there's no chance it's ever going anywhere. But mainly because it drives Javi crazy."

Beckett laughs and says, "Certainly a noble goal. Okay, Castle. But you'd better not let it go beyond fun, because you know very well that Lanie will tell me, and then you'd be dead and I'd be in trouble for killing you."

"Duly noted. So, what's next?"

"We go through everything Tom has sent us until our vision blurs from fatigue and then we go home." With a nervous glance at him, Beckett adds, "Separate homes this time, I think."

They've discussed the problems of keeping their relationship secret, so Castle only says, "Yeah, probably for the best. But you'll be thinking of me?"

With a shy smile that takes years off her apparent age, Beckett confesses, "Even when I'm sleeping."

Castle groans and says, "Now how the hell am I going to sleep, imagining you dreaming about me?"

"Because, when I drop you at your apartment this evening, I'm going to stay long enough to exhaust you."

Beaming his gratitude, Castle says, "That could work."

* * *

Back at the precinct, Beckett fills in Gates on what little they have so far, and receives permission for Esposito and Ryan to assist, at least while there are no other cases to work on. By end of shift they have a list of names; people whose alibis are along the lines of "home alone" or "out for a walk", so warrant a second look. Despite none of these people having an apparent motive, it's the best course of action. After contacting Tom Wright, Beckett dismisses her fellow detectives and says to Castle, "They're rehearsing again tonight. I thought I'd stop by and see what I can see. But I'll understand if…" Castle is already standing and holding out her jacket, so she smiles and says, "Thanks."

En route to Lincoln Center, Castle says, "I've been thinking…"

"Uh, oh."

"Hey! I get enough of that from Alexis. No, I think…what if we try and get away to the beach house this weekend?"

Beckett glances at him and says, "Last time we did that, a body dropped in your back yard."

"True. But the chances of that happening again must be incredibly remote."

"I've got a better idea; my Dad's cabin. It's just over an hour's drive in good traffic. Assuming all goes well, we could leave Friday evening, and get there in time for dinner. There's a phone, but cell reception is iffy at best. We'll have a lake view out almost every window and no neighbors – alive or dead – for miles."

"Sounds perfect. And, speaking of dinner, I'm starving. Can we stop on the way?"

Smiling at his phenomenal appetite, in all things, Beckett says, "Sure."

"And no hotdog or drive-thru. I want a proper meal."

"Look, we've talked about this. You agreed that public dates are too risky."

"Not a date; just two colleagues grabbing a meal before one of them passes out. I'm sure other crime fighting duos eat together all the time."

After a moment, Beckett says, "Okay, but no funny stuff, or you're going home alone."

Though she can't see the gesture, Castle crosses his heart and says, "No funny stuff; got it. Take the next left."

That earns him a glance, and Beckett says, "You know a place around here?"

Smiling, Castle says, "I know a place everywhere."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being set up?"

"Because you're a naturally suspicious person who's honed that instinct through several years as a cop. But you'll remember to trust me and then you'll apologize. Now that you're finally putting out, I have no need to deceive you."

"Putting out?"

"Okay; finally succumbing to the incredibly powerful attraction that you've always felt for me but, until recently, refused to acknowledge."

"On second thoughts, I prefer the first option. But, you're right, and I'm sorry. I trust you."

Barely loud enough to be audible, Castle "evilly" murmurs, "Excellent."

"Castle!"

"Easy, Detective, I'm just messing with you. I know the chef. I haven't set anything up, I swear. But, given that we're in a hurry, how about I order?"

"Deal."

Under Castle's direction, they're soon entering a small, Italian restaurant. He's instantly recognized and greeted as if he's a long-lost member of the family. Beckett is a little taken aback when, upon being introduced, she receives almost the same level of welcome. She's still recovering when a giant of a man emerges from the kitchen and exclaims, "Richard Castle!"

Castle turns to him, saying, "No, Orso. No, I'm still bruised from…"

It's no good. The man almost charges at Castle and picks him up as if he weighs nothing. Castle puts up with the crushing hug for a while and then says, "Okay, seriously, I'm gonna need to breathe soon, and we're in a hurry."

The man puts Castle down and extends a huge hand to Beckett, saying, in a rich accent, "You must be Detective Beckett. I'm Roberto."

Confused, Beckett looks at Castle as she shakes hands, and he explains, "Orso is Italian for 'bear'; Roberto's nickname." Gesturing to the giant, he adds, "For obvious reasons."

Clapping his hands together once, Roberto says, "So, you're in a hurry; two fettuccine alfredo?"

"Perfect."

They're shown to a quiet, corner table. Once seated, Beckett asks, "So, do you own this place?"

"Uh, no. They're just really friendly, and the food is excellent. You're going to love this dish. It's practically a heart attack on a plate, but a delightful way to die."

His attempt at evasion isn't quite good enough and Beckett says, "What's going on?"

Castle knows her well enough to realize she won't let it go, so he sighs and says, "I'm a regular here; have been for a long time. A while back the meal was…well, it was still good. But Orso doesn't do 'average', so I asked if he was okay. Tony, who you met at the door, confessed that Orso's daughter was quite ill and he couldn't even afford to take the night off to visit her, because the bills were piling up. So I, uh, fixed it."

Aware that her often overbearingly ostentatious and gregarious partner is shy about some things, Beckett asks only, "And is she okay?"

Beaming at her, Castle says, "She's wonderful. Her lungs will never be great. But once they found the right medication for her, she improved and now you wouldn't know that she almost died."

"You still pay for her medication, don't you?"

Actually blushing, Castle says, "Well…Kate, please don't make a big deal about this."

With a glance around them, to confirm that no one is within earshot, Beckett quietly says, "I'm suddenly sorry that we're not already on the way back to your place."

His eyes alight with sudden passion, Castle says, "You're too good at your job to really mean that. But thank you, for saying it."

* * *

The man approaching Beckett with his hand outstretched says, "Detective Beckett? I'm Alan Gilbert; Music Director. You asked to see me?"

Accepting the gesture, Beckett says, "Yes, thank you. This is Rick Castle; a consultant. We're hoping to sit in on your rehearsal tonight, so I can get an idea of the dynamics of the group. I understand there was no ill-feeling towards Mr. Gruer?"

Paling a little as he speaks, Alan says, "No. None. In fact…it's simply shocking. I can't imagine who'd want to do this to anyone, let alone one of our most popular musicians."

"Romantic attachments?"

After a moment's hesitation, the man says, "You understand that, unless it affects their performance, it's none of my business. But he and Michelle Guo were pretty close for a while. Though I've not seen anything other than professional courtesy between them for quite some time, so I presume it ended and did so amicably." With a shrug, he adds, "I've no idea if he was seeing anyone when he died. The others might know. I'd start with the brass section. There's no active rivalry, but musicians tend to gravitate towards those with similar interests. Come, I'll show you the way. They're still setting up. Oh, please understand that, while they're playing, you'll need to be completely still and quiet."

Beckett puts away her notebook and follows as she glares a command at Castle, saying, "Not a problem."

For his part, Castle looks shocked that she might be insinuating otherwise and tags along, muttering, "I can do still and quiet."

The Avery Fisher Hall; a stunning display of concrete and glass from the outside, is truly beautiful inside. The stage is huge; a rich, warm red of varnished wood paneling, and the seats seem to go one forever. Alan explains their presence to the large group, adding, "The detective won't disturb rehearsal, but may have some questions for you. Please cooperate. I know you want answers as much as I do."

A young man, wearing a white t-shirt and black pants, says, "Seven o'clock, Mr. Gilbert. Rehearsal starts at seven o'clock."

"Yes, Michael. I'm done now." Alan thanks the group then leads Beckett and Castle to their seats, as he quietly explains, "Michael has Asperger's. He's a truly gifted cellist, and we never have even a moment of trouble from him so long as everything runs on time."

"Michael Lee?" At Alan's nod, Beckett says, "He left early the night of the murder."

"Not for him. He never stays past nine-thirty. We used to try and persuade him, but he'd get so stressed that it wasn't worth it. So we just have the car ready and make do without him if rehearsal runs overtime."

Castle asks, "What happens when he gets stressed?"

"Oh, nothing like a tantrum. But he starts muttering to himself about the time and simply can't concentrate…it's almost as if his passion for time replaces his passion for the music. Of course, this is unsettling for the others, so now we just let him go."

"Did he have a problem with Mr. Gruer?"

Clearly surprised by the question, Alan looks at Beckett for a moment and says, "I don't think Michael has a problem with anyone. He…well, the constant muttering and compulsive echoing of phrases…though he's learned very well the art of reading people's facial expressions, he still doesn't really…perhaps it's best if I introduce you when they take a break? That way you'll understand what I'm trying to say. He's the only person I've met with this condition, so I don't know much about it. What I do know, and all that matters to me, is that he deserves the Countess." At her questioning frown, he gestures towards the stage and says, "The Countess of Stanlein; his cello. It's a Stradivarius. She's on loan from the owner."

"She?"

With a smile, Alan says, "Yes, you'll find that's common. Obviously, we don't really believe they're alive. Though I knew a man who swore his violin had a soul. The instruments become so much a part of our lives...treasured companions, if you will. The previous owner of the Countess fell in love with her on sight and kept her by his side until his death, fifty years later. The only reason his family sold it was because they knew that he couldn't have endured thinking of her once again wasting away." With both Beckett and Castle now looking confused, he laughs a little and says, "Perhaps you'd better research her. I don't have time for a history lesson spanning three hundred years."

Castle whistles and says, "That is one old lady. Oh, how much did she cost? My daughter plays the violin, and she would love a Strad."

Alan doesn't even blink when he says, "Six million dollars. A violin would fetch about the same, though the current record is the Lady Blunt, which recently sold for almost sixteen million dollars." Castle is still staring in open-mouthed shock when he continues, "The good news for you is that there's some evidence to suggest that a well-made modern violin is just as good, if not better, than an antique."

Beckett has noticed something and says, "But you don't believe that."

With a warm smile, Alan says, "Perhaps I, too, believe they have a soul. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ridiculous amount of work to do."

When he's gone, Castle says, "Alexis is _not_ getting that Strad."

In the relative seclusion of the rows of seats, Beckett permits herself the gesture of letting her knee touch his when she says, "Who are you kidding? If she really wanted it, you'd buy it."

Just that slight contact is enough that his voice is rich with desire when Castle says, "You know me too well, Detective."

Knowing that she'll see love shining from his eyes if she looks at him, Beckett can't quite find the courage to meet his gaze when she quietly replies, "Never quite well enough, actually."

Castle groans and says, "Can we go, now?"

Fighting a smile, Beckett says, "No. Now keep still and be quiet." After a few seconds, and still without looking at him, she hisses, "Eyes front. We're here for a reason."

Snapping out of his rapt study of Beckett's profile, Castle directs his gaze to the musicians as he says, "Sorry."

Beckett and Castle are then blessed with a performance that most people have to pay well to hear. During Michael Lee's solo performance, Beckett whispers to Castle, "No sheet music." Studying the stage for a while, Castle realizes that she's right; Michael Lee is the only performer playing – apparently flawlessly – the entire concert by ear, and he wonders how anyone can hold that much information in their head.

When the musicians take a break, Castle finds himself spontaneously applauding, which is met with curious looks. At Beckett's glare, he says, "Oh, come on; they're good."

Rising to her feet, Beckett murmurs, "They're also grieving and we're a reminder why. Let me do the talking, okay?"

Familiar with this tactic, Castle follows her, knowing that his part of the routine is to closely watch everyone _except_ the person Beckett is interviewing. It doesn't always produce results, but it's worked in the past. Alan Gilbert, having been watching from the wings, intercepts them to make introductions. Beckett approaches Michelle Guo and is asking generic questions. Castle scans the others, but sees only what you'd expect; wariness, grief, perhaps a touch of irritation from a few, but even that isn't a surprise. And then his gaze alights on Michael Lee, who is the only one not taking an interest in Beckett. Instead, the young performer is alternatively checking his watch and muttering something unintelligible. Castle approaches and says, "So, this cello is a Strad, huh?"

"_Talking about_…the correct term is violoncello. It was first shortened to 'cello, preceded by an apostrophe, but now it's just c-e-l-l-o. Strad is short for Stradivarius, which is the family name of luthiers from the eighteenth century; Antonio Stradivari being the most famous."

A woman's voice behind Castle says, "He means 'yes'." He turns to see a young, captivating beauty with jet black hair and soulful brown eyes. She smiles and explains, "That's just how Michael talks. He's really smart, but doesn't see things the same way as you or I would." Extending a hand, she concludes, "I'm Marena; first violin."

Castle shakes her hand and, mindful of his promise, keeps his tone neutral when he says, "Rick; first writer."

"I thought so. I like your work."

Beckett is walking in their direction, so he only smiles and says, "Thank you. I do my best. If you have one here, maybe I could…?"

Marena grimaces and says, "Sorry, no. Oh, but…hang on." She returns seconds later with her violin case and a Sharpie, saying, "Will this do?"

Suddenly nervous, with Beckett only a couple of feet away, Castle scrawls "I like your work, too," before signing it with his usual flourish.

Marena chuckles at the words and says, "Thanks. Would you…maybe we could have a drink after this?"

Steadfastly refusing to look at Beckett, Castle offers an apologetic smile and says, "Will you still buy my next book if I politely refuse your kind offer?"

Accepting with good grace, Marena says, "Of course." Shaking his hand again, she adds, "Nice to meet you, Rick."

Finally daring to glance at his lover, Castle sees only gratitude on her face. So he smiles and says, "This is Michael Lee." Gesturing with his open hand, he adds, "And this really is a Stradivarius cello."

"_Him touch me_…don't touch!"

Surprised by the vehemence in the man's caution, Castle snaps his hand back, saying, "I wasn't going to."

"_Has a gun_…can I see your gun?"

Confused, Beckett replies, "Uh, no. Sorry. Hello, Michael. I'm Kate."

"_Very careful_…hello, Kate. How are you, this evening?"

"I'm well, thank you. May I ask about your relationship with Stefan Gruer?"

"_The subject_…that's eight minutes. Only two minutes left!"

Alan approaches, saying, "Yes, Michael. Thank you." To Beckett, he says, "If you could please resume your seats? They really need to focus."

"Of course." On the way, Beckett asks Alan, "Mr. Lee is able to follow a conversation?"

"Yes and no. He has an extensive vocabulary, so understands the words. But sometimes misses the intention behind them. His answers can be a bit long-winded, especially if you ask about music. And he'll repeat, in a murmur, the last few syllables of your question before replying."

"No, he doesn't?"

Alan looks at Castle to ask, "I beg your pardon?"

"He doesn't repeat. It's something else entirely. Uh, like just now; I asked if the cello was a Strad and he mumbled 'talking about', before answering. And, when Kate introduced herself, he muttered 'very careful'. He's not repeating."

Alan looks surprised and exclaims, "Huh. I was sure he did the echoing thing." Waving it away, he says, "Anyway, if you could again be quiet, we'll hopefully finish on time tonight."

When they're once again the "audience", Beckett quietly says, "See if you can get an opportunity to get near that cello again."

Castle's glances at her and asks, "Lee?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. There's something. Alan seemed pretty sure that he echoes speech. It's called _echolalia_ and I've seen it before."

Keeping his voice quiet to match hers, Castle says, "But he doesn't echo."

Looking right at him, Beckett says, "He didn't echo _us_. What if he's hearing someone who doesn't exist?

"You mean schizophrenia, or something like that?"

With a shrug, Beckett says, "Just because he has Asperger's, doesn't mean he's not prone to other disorders; and a crazy motive would explain an insane crime. Oh, but don't touch the cello, okay?"

Recognizing the uncharacteristic trace of fear in her eyes, Castle says only, "Okay."

They're treated to another fine performance. This time Castle refrains from applauding. The musicians are dismissed and they start packing up. Castle isn't quick enough to get to Michael Lee before the cello is packed away, so he shows his phone and says, "Hello again, Michael. Mind if I take a picture of the Countess? My daughter is a musician and would love to meet her."

"_Keep me safe_…I have to go home. It's time to go."

"Not quite. You've still got five minutes." Trying his most persuasive smile, Castle says, "Come on, Michael. I promise that I won't touch her; just one photo?"

Looking everywhere but at Castle, Michael Lee suddenly opens the case, revealing the glorious cello. Trusting that Beckett is nearby and will protect him if necessary, Castle pushes the camera phone closer than is needed to take the shot. The digitalized shutter sound has barely finished when the case snaps shut and Michael Lee says "Time to go," before lifting the instrument with ease and heading for the door.

Again taken aback by the suddenness of the man's response, Castle doesn't immediately reply. But a glance at Beckett confirms that she now has a suspect. Thinking on his feet, Castle calls out, "Michael, thank the Countess for me!" And then he turns a smug grin Beckett's way, noticing that she also saw Michael Lee automatically nod before pausing and straightening his shoulders to mutter something and then resuming his exit.

Walking over to Beckett, he raises one eyebrow in question and she whispers, "He's our guy. I need to have him assessed."

"Can you do that without his permission?"

"I don't know. We'll leave it with Gates. In the meantime, we need to speak with Alan."

With a grimace, Castle says, "You mean right now, don't you?"

"Yes. You want to head home?"

Lowering his voice still further, Castle says, "Yes, but sex is more fun _with_ you. I'll wait."

Beckett tries to glare at him, but he's just so damn adorable when he's like this. The best she can manage is to keep from smiling when she finds Alan Gilbert and says, "We need to talk, now."

* * *

Being the consummate professional that she is, Beckett has every suspect on their shortlist brought in for questioning, even though her instincts tell her that Michael Lee is the killer. When it's finally his turn, she and Castle enter the room, where Michael has been fidgeting and mumbling for as long as she could legally let him. On hearing the door open, he looks up and is immediately silent. Beckett sits down and opens with her usual, "Good afternoon, Mr. Lee. Do you know why you're here?"

"_Know your rights_…you're Kate, Detective Kate Beckett. But you're not wearing your gun right now, because that would contravene police department policy. I don't have to answer any questions." Looking at Castle, he continues, without pause, "You're Richard Castle; novelist. I'm not sure you're allowed to be here."

Surprised, as no suspect has ever questioned the validity of Castle's presence during interrogations, Beckett realizes that she's dealing with a very smart man. Resisting the urge to glance at the mirror, she says, "Mr. Castle is here at the request of City Hall and with the permission of the Chief of Police. _You're_ here because, two nights ago, someone brutally murdered Stefan Gruer, and you don't have a solid alibi for that time. I know you've already given a statement to police, but please remind us what you were doing at the time?"

This met with only silence. Castle notices that Michael's left hand is never quite still, his thumb constantly tapping his fingers in turn; a gesture poignantly familiar to him, because Alexis does the same thing when she has a tune running through her head. Knowing that all Beckett needs is for their suspect to answer questions, he asks, "Michael, remember I said that my daughter is a musician?" It's not enough to elicit a response, so he continues, "Well, I looked up that word you told me; violoncello? I thought I'd got it wrong at first, because that word brought up images and videos of people playing what looked like a large violin. Know anything about that?"

"_Da spalla_…the violoncello da spalla is not actually the name of an instrument, rather the way of playing it; against the shoulder, and is how what we call cellos were first played. But it doesn't produce the same sound as the larger instrument, and modern cellos would be unwieldy played in this manner."

Pleased with this success, Castle quickly says, "My daughter prefers the violin. Do you think she should try this instrument?"

"_A cretin_…uh, no. Cello is best. She should play the cello."

Surprised to receive so few words, Castle wonders if he's screwed up. But a glance at Beckett brings an almost imperceptible gesture that he should continue, so he returns his attention to Michael and says, "Uh, and can you recommend a tutor, if she chooses the cello?"

"_Can't bear it._" Michael becomes visibly distressed, his eyes darting everywhere. He suddenly stands up, saying, "I have to go. I need to practice. According to state law, you can't keep me here, as I've not been arrested. No one has read me my Miranda rights. This is a non-custodial interrogation."

Beckett also stands, saying, "You're absolutely right. Thank you, for coming in today, Mr. Lee. I understand that you and your colleagues are very busy right now. So I appreciate your cooperation. We'll be in touch."

"_More careful_…you're welcome, Kate. Good luck with your investigation."

On the other side of the mirror, Captain Gates turns to their guest and asks, "Well?"

Dr. Burke nods, saying, "Could be. Though I'd need a lot more to make a definitive diagnosis." Just then Beckett and Castle join them, and he explains, "It's definitely not _palilalia_. It could be, as you say, _echolalia_ and he's repeating the last few syllables of the hallucination. But, as I was just telling your captain, I can't say for sure without studying Mr. Lee."

Beckett nervously asks, "Can you do that?"

"Not without his permission. He's an intelligent, productive member of society with equal rights to anyone in this room. Without real evidence that he's ill, or a danger to himself or others, there's nothing I can do. One way we could test your theory is to give him medication that works in some cases of schizophrenia. But, again, he'd have to volunteer. If he really is under the sway of a malevolent hallucination, you need to tread very carefully. There's simply no telling how he might react in any situation."

"But that's not actually true, is it?" When they all look at him, Castle explains, "He's a passionate musician who's in love with his cello…crazy in love; enough to kill for her." With a shrug, he concludes, "Once you know that, you know everything."

Burke considers for a moment and says, "Except that Mr. Lee might be hearing other voices as well. And another stressor might push his auditory illusions into full-on hallucinations, incorporating all his senses; a very dangerous place to be."

Beckett says "Yeah, we know," and then asks Gates, "If we get enough for an arrest warrant, can we have him assessed?"

"Yes, even committed, while the assessment is performed. Right, Doctor?" At the psychiatrist's nod, Gates says to Beckett, "Make this your priority. If he is our killer, I don't want him to have an opportunity to strike again. Good job so far. Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir."

Castle has been paying attention and asks Burke, "Another stressor?"

"His mentor and teacher, also the previous owner of the cello, died last year. It's the kind of incident that can trigger a psychotic break in a fragile individual. Though it's entirely possible that Mr. Lee's symptoms have been getting steadily worse for a while, but those who know him attributed any…oddness – for lack of a better word – to his Asperger's."

Mulling this over, Beckett then says, "Just how odd _is_ he, do you think?"

With a glance at the now empty interrogation room, Burke says, "Well, there's the Asperger's, almost certainly schizophrenia – though other conditions can produce auditory hallucinations – and he may well be an objectophile. Plus, there's the fact that he might be capable of extreme violence. If all this is true, my professional opinion would be that he's pretty damn odd."

Beckett smiles at the un-clinical diagnosis and then asks, "Objectophile; someone in love with an object?"

"Or objects; yes. There's even less known about that than about Asperger's Syndrome. But it's generally recognized as something other than a fetish. There may or may not be a sexual element to the infatuation, but the emotions are all very real and just as powerful as if he were in love with another human. If Mr. Lee believes himself in love with the cello, he will also believe that 'she' returns his love. And, if we're right about his hallucinations, he'll be effectively devoted to an older woman; apparently one with a temper. If you look closer, I'm confident that you'll find what seemed like a minor incident between the victim and either Mr. Lee or his cello. I'd very much like to talk to this young man. But it will have to wait." Straightening his posture, Burke says, "In the meantime, I'll find out more and let you know if I can help in another way." Offering Castle his hand, he concludes, "It's truly a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Castle."

Accepting the gesture, even as he automatically says "Rick," Castle suddenly comprehends and his gaze snaps from Burke to Beckett and back as he exclaims, "Oh, so you're…?" Adding another hand to the farewell gesture, he warmly adds, "Then it's a pleasure to finally meet you, too. Thanks, for all you've done. When Kate…well, you know probably even better than I do how much she needed you for a while there."

His warm gaze on Beckett, Burke says, "No more than she needed you, I think."

Blushing, Beckett says, "Thanks, Doc. But I think you'd better go."

Chuckling, Burke says, "Okay, I'm going. I'll talk to you soon."

Castle is staring into the interrogation room, so Beckett asks, "Okay?"

Frowning, Castle says, "The Countess called me a cretin."

"No, Michael Lee did."

"But he repeats what she says."

"Except that she doesn't exist, except in his mind."

"Oh, right." Shaking his head, Castle says, "This is confusing."

"Not for Lee. She's real to him. You understand that, right? We've faced this before."

Castle knows what's she's really asking, so he looks at her and says, "I'll be careful, I promise. No heroics. And I'll remember that hallucinations don't necessarily have a sense of humor."

Relieved to have his cooperation, Beckett says only, "Thank you."

Suddenly, Castle grins and says, "Needed me, huh?"

Blushing anew, Beckett finds the strength to meet his gaze and lies, "I've no idea what he was talking about."

Closing the distance between them, as always discreet while in the police station, even though they're effectively alone, Castle's tenderly asks, "No?"

Relaxing, on seeing that he's not going to torture her with Burke's appraisal, Beckett reminds him, "Work, Castle."

Unconcerned, Castle studies her for a while, noting the subtle but familiar signs of her arousal at his close proximity. Satisfied that all is well between them, he says, "If you hold still, I'm going to give you a quick peck on the cheek and then we can get back to the case." Recognizing her silence as permission, he kisses her in the manner promised, but adds a murmured "Love you, Kate," before retreating.

A different kind of flush suffusing her cheeks, Beckett has to wait until her lust subsides enough that she can speak and, even then, her reprimand holds little power when she protests, "That is _so_ not fair."

Beaming at his success, Castle says, "Maybe I'd better go first. You look like you could do with a quiet moment alone."

Before he reaches the door, Beckett is back in control of her emotions, and says, "You know you're in trouble, right?"

Without even looking back, Castle says, "Oh, I hope so."

* * *

Michael Lee is once again enjoying the dubious ambience of the interrogation room, this time with his attorney present. When Beckett and Castle enter, the new face in the room whispers something to his client before saying, "Detective Beckett; nice to see you again."

Beckett knows the man. Though he _is_ a defense attorney, considered the lowest of the low, he's also as fair and honest as his profession will allow, and good enough at his job that he only defends wealthy clients; or, in Michael Lee's case, clients with wealthy parents. So she offers him a grim smile and says, "Hey, Barney. I'm afraid this isn't your day."

At first visibly shocked by her words, Barney quickly rallies and says, "We'll see. My client has chosen to remain silent. So, if we could wrap this up? I'd like to get started on bail proceedings."

No trace of emotion in her voice, Beckett opens the manila folder she's brought with her as she says, "That's okay. I won't be asking Mr. Lee any questions." Then looking at the unresponsive Michael, she continues, "Mr. Lee, since last time you we spoke, four detectives, one novelist, countless uniformed officers and a couple of psychiatrists have been working very hard on the case. The doorman of your building doesn't recall seeing you leave on the night of the murder. But interviewing your neighbors revealed that you practice from exactly ten until eleven every night; except for this past Tuesday, when you made a couple of false starts before everything went quiet, until just after midnight, when you played one tune, apparently beautifully. This timeframe would leave ample time to commit the murder, even allowing for somehow bypassing the doorman…twice."

It's Castle who bothers to add, "Opportunity."

With a small nod, Beckett then says, "We also spoke to your colleagues again, this time without your knowledge. Interviewed separately, several of them recalled an incident on the night of the murder; Stefan Gruer, presumably trying to impress the young woman, showed her the Countess of Stanlein while you were in the bathroom. Now, being a considerate person, Mr. Gruer was careful not to touch the cello, because he knew how possessive you are…or thought he knew. He must have been _very_ surprised when he learned just how upset you were, right before you hit him from behind with a lump of concrete."

When Beckett glances at him, Castle says only, "Motive."

Well and truly familiar with interrogation tactics, Barney glances at his watch and affects a bored manner as he asks, "Is this going to take a long time, Detective?"

Offering him a sweet smile, Beckett says, "Not much longer." Again looking at Michael, who still refuses to meet her gaze, she continues, "There was no useable DNA or fingerprints on the concrete, other than blood and hair from Mr. Gruer; nor on the murder weapon, because it was wiped clean. But we did find something else." Again turning her attention to Barney, Beckett asks, "Did you know that there are many different types of bow rosin; countless combinations of ingredients?"

Looking nervous for the first time, Barney glances at Michael and says, "Uh, no."

"Sadly, for some musicians, they're allergic to ordinary rosin; with symptoms ranging from watery eyes to acute respiratory distress and migraines. There are two such sufferers in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, with Mr. Lee being one. The other is a young violinist. She uses Geipel hypoallergenic rosin for violin; an effective, but inexpensive brand. Whereas Mr. Lee uses Super-Sensitive Clarity rosin for cello; a much more expensive brand paid for by his incredibly supportive parents. Once we knew what to look for, we went back to the evidence collected at the scene. Traces of rosin dust were found on the murder weapon. Anyone like to guess what brand?"

Castle finally speaks, "guessing", "Super-Sensitive Clarity?"

Beckett smiles at him and says, "Bingo."

Apparently recovered from his moment of apprehension, Barney calmly says, "There are a number of explanations for this anomaly, and the rest is circumstantial. I'm beginning to think you have nothing. If you're fishing here, you won't catch anything. My client knows his rights and is resolute in protecting them."

Without looking directly at the suspect, Beckett can see that she's getting to him; his body is constantly in minute motion, with his lips holding a silent conversation. So she presses on, saying, "You're right; it's hardly conclusive. But these combined factors were sufficient to get a search warrant for Mr. Lee's apartment." That is enough to finally bring Michael Lee's gaze to hers, his expression one of concern, and she continues, "The Countess was _very_ accommodating."

Beckett glances at Castle, who stands and opens the door. Two uniformed officers enter, one of them carrying a cello case familiar to everyone except Barney, who quickly works it out and says, "Detective Beckett, whatever you have planned, this is bordering on torture. You must be aware of my client's attachment to his cello."

Beckett permits herself the smile that signals a suspect's doom and reveals, "I am. But I'm not sure you are. We have only compassion for Mr. Lee. He's overcome great obstacles to reach the pinnacle of his career. But I'm trying to solve a murder, and will interrogate anyone connected with that crime." To the uniformed officers, she says, "Thanks. Would you please escort Mr. Lee back to his cell?"

"_They can lie_…you wouldn't dare."

Barney hisses a caution to his client, even as Beckett says, "Wouldn't I?" At her nod, one of the officers leans the case carefully in a corner and opens it, revealing the cello. She waits for the glint of recognition in Michael's eyes, then again instructs the officers, "Take him away."

As the officers approach him, Michael suddenly stands, saying, "_You promised_…no, please don't do this."

Desperate, Barney also stands, saying, "Please, Michael, just keep quiet. They're baiting you. I can sort this out if…"

"_Don't let them_…no! Please don't touch her. It was me. She had nothing to do with it."

It's enough, and Beckett stops the officers with a gesture as she says, "It's okay, Michael. This isn't the Countess. She's safe in your apartment. This one is a replica. If you calm down, you can take a closer look."

"_Closer look_…not my lady? She's safe?"

"Quite safe; exactly where you left her. I promise."

"_I promise_…what happens now?"

Nodding her understanding of his question, Beckett explains, "Once you're satisfied that this is _not_ the Countess of Stanlein, you'll be returned to Holding while we draft official charges against you for the murder. But I'm almost certain that you'll ultimately be released into the custody of a psychiatrist and serve out your sentence in a mental health facility. Is there someone you'd like us to contact?"

"_To contact_…my parents?"

Barney gently interjects, "I'll take care of that, Michael."

As if he hasn't even heard, Michael approaches the cello and investigates it, then says, without turning, "_Me away_…they won't let me keep her, will they?"

It's Castle who answers, "I'm afraid not, Michael. But this one, though a pale imitation of the Countess, is yours if you'd like. I'm assured that the sound is quite good."

Michael looks at him to ask, "_Is quite good_…now?"

With a questioning glance at Beckett, receiving a nod of permission, Castle says, "Uh, sure. The holding cell block isn't the Avery Fisher Hall, but I'm sure you'll make it work."

"_Make it work_…actually; the acoustics at the hall have never been optimal, despite attempts at improvement over the years. Completed in 1962, at which time it was christened Philharmonic Hall, the proposed acoustical design was ignored for the sake of increased seating capacity. Extensive renovations are planned for the near future, during which the orchestra will have to relocate, for two years, to another venue."

Confident that he's beginning to understand this complicated individual, Castle smiles at Beckett and says, "He means 'thank you'. He'll be fine."

Once Michael is heading back to his cell carrying the cello, Barney says, "Well, you were right, Detective; not my day. If you'll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make. Do you know yet what's wrong with him?"

"No. We suspect it's schizophrenia, combined with something nicknamed Objectum Sexuality. We'll have him assessed asap and give you access to the results. No one wants to see Michael suffer more than he already has. He's unfortunately smart enough to know that he's ill, which must be a kind of hell."

"Will he be okay without his cello?"

Looking after Michael, who's now out of sight, Beckett says, "I think so. Our department shrink's preliminary assessment is that Michael doesn't need to be in the presence of the Countess to feel the attachment or hear her 'voice'. But that also means he might believe she asks a penance for failing him, and try to harm himself. Either way, he'll be under round-the-clock observation, just in case."

"Thank you." To Castle, Barney says, "And thank _you_. I take it that you bought the cello?"

Surprised, Castle says, "Uh, yeah. We couldn't get permission to have the real one brought here, and I found out that the replica was made for the previous owner. Actually, my research into Objectum Sexuality indicates that Michael may well form an attachment to the fake Countess. And, if he responds to medication for his schizo…." Trailing off, at their glazed expressions, he grins and says, "I kind of sounded like him just now, didn't I?"

Beckett grins and heads for the door as she says, "And you mumble a lot, too. Maybe we should have _you_ assessed?"

Following the other two out, Castle pouts, "I mumble because, if I said out loud what I'm thinking of you, I'd be in trouble."

Only Castle knows that Beckett is deliberately flirting with him when she asks, "And how would that make this different than any other day?"

And only Beckett knows what he's promising when he grins and again says, "It wouldn't."

* * *

Following the dirt track to her father's cabin, Beckett sees that Castle has left the outside light on for her. And, illuminated within, she can see him moving about the kitchenette. By the time she's parked her car next to his, he's waiting on the porch and says, "You're late."

Grabbing her backpack from the seat beside her, she exits, saying, "I'm glad you found the place okay, and I missed you, too."

By then, he's beside her and takes the backpack, pulling her against him with his free arm as he says, "What makes you think I missed you?"

Holding his gaze, relishing the resulting quickening of his breath, Beckett gently cups the prominent bulge at the front of his jeans and says, "This."

"Hardly conclusive, Detective. That used to happen even before I met you."

Reaching up to entwine her fingers in his hair, Beckett says, "True. But there's also the fact that you came out to greet me, and I can smell that you've cooked my new favorite; fettuccine alfredo."

Having let the backpack fall from his fingers, Castle puts both arms around her waist as he says, "You can't _smell_ fettuccine; it's just pasta."

"No, but I'm right, aren't I?"

Just before his lips find hers, Castle murmurs, "Yes, I missed you." Finally ending the kiss, he groans and retrieves the pack, saying, "We'd better eat, or it'll be alfredo mush."

Preceding him into the cabin, Beckett says, "Sorry, but I had to make sure he was okay."

"And?"

"Surprisingly well; entertaining everyone at the psych' center. They'll keep him under suicide watch until they're sure he's responding to the medication. If they can just get the schizophrenia under control, he should be okay."

Serving their meals to the small dining table, Castle says, "And be confined to a maximum security facility for the next fifteen to twenty-five years."

With a shrug, Beckett says, "Maybe. But Carver seems to think that he won't mind so much. Michael…"

Castle interrupts to say, "Doesn't see things the same way as you or I would. Yeah, I remember. Carver is Dr. Burke?"

"Yes, but I often lapse into using his surname or title, even though I'm no longer seeing him in a professional capacity."

Noting her sudden unease, Castle says, "We don't have to talk about him…ever. I know he did you good, and that's enough for me, okay?"

"It's not that. It just reminds me what I put you through. But I…there really was no other way to heal, and then I just got so scared that asking more of you would ruin what we had."

Reaching across the table to take her hand, Castle says, "Hey. We've talked about that. I understand, and I'd say things are working out just fine. Let's just enjoy our weekend, before that phone rings with another murder." At her surprise, he adds, "What, you didn't think I'd work out you left this number with the precinct? I know you, Kate."

Beckett lifts her wine glass to him as she says, "And, yet, you're still here."

Touching his glass to hers, everything about Castle expresses sincerity when he yet again promises, "Always."

The End

* * *

Where credit's due: AriadneInNaxos for help with content and, more importantly, boosting my confidence. Thank you.


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